The Last Siege
by Hyr'Ayl
Summary: What if Gollum had not taken his precious from Frodo on Mount Doom, and Sauron retrieved his One Ring? The forces of darkness march to Rivendell and all the free peoples and heroes will do what they must to defend the last fortress of good in Middle Earth
1. The beginning of the end

**My first LOTR fanfic, read and review. I tried to keep a Tolkienish style, so i use many elven names for places and people. If you don't remember eìwhat they are about, it's a good occasion to take up the books again. **

This is a story that has not happened.

Hopefully, that will never happen.

I have seen many things that were supposed to remain hidden from anyone. I have seen events that will never take place, and lives that still wait to begin. For i have taken my choice, in the beginning of the world, and it was to stay aside Ilùvatar outside the world. My sight is anyway turned towards Arda, the world of mortals, in my endless quest for knowledge.

I know much. The rest, i can imagine.

As many know, in the end of all the ages a confrontation between good and evil must take place.

In the first age, Morgoth was defeated. In the second, Sauron was reduced to a ghost and believed dead. But evil has grown, if not stronger, more wise and clever, subtle enough to corrupt the souls of those who were paladins of good.

I know this because i was there, when in the mouth of Orodruin, where the ring was created, two hobbits were about to destroy it. I was there, not physically, but as a presence, as an eye that can see but is never seen. Yes, i have seen this hobbit, this creature overtaken by a power too great to be resisted by a mortal, fighting against the creature Gollum, another corrupted soul, and i have seen Frodo winning and holding the precious as his own.

I have seen the Nazgul descending on the cliffs of Mount Doom and stabbing the hobbit. I have seen the Ring of Power, One To Rule Them All, returned to his creator. And i have seen this creator returned to life, i have seen the rebirth of Sauron.

Elrond looked anxiously out of the window, hoping to see his sons coming. They went scouting around Rivendell in search of the goblins that raided a few of his elven patrols. He knew it wouldn't have been much of a danger, but he was nevertheless concerned. Even though the Enemy was still far away, he was doubtlessly marching towards Imladris. As the Gray Havens were blocked by the corsairs and Cirdan cornered, the Eldar's last stand was there. Even Mirkwood, invaded by the forces swarming from Dol Guldur, was being abandoned and the Wood Elves joined the people of Lothlorien in their escape to Rivendell itself.

A soft knock on the door distracted Elrond from his thoughts.

"Father?" His daughter opened slowly the door, her face obscured by concern.

"Yes Arwen, what troubles you?"

"I have noticed you received a messenger from south. What news are coming from the lands of men?"

"Dire news, indeed, but not worse than i feared. Minas Tirith is no more. Gondor is invaded and Rohan is just about to suffer the same fate. The Rohirrim are rising up and trying to resist, but they stand no chance." Nor do the Dwarves in the Lonely Mountain, nor we do here, he considered, but he gave no voice to these sad thoughts.

"And a message from Gandalf has just reached me" he continued "What remains of the Fellowship is going to reach us in a few days, together with the Dunedain and the few Gondor fighters that have survived the fall of the White City. He will rech us soon, after he has settled some unknown matter."

Arwen nodded, evidently distracted.

"Here come your brothers" said Elrond, looking out of the window "let us hope their news are better than mine."

Elladan and Elohir were riding trough the main gates of Rivendell, now fortified and guarded night and day by Elven archers. The fields surrounding the house of Elrond were filled with tents, campfires, charts and various luggages brought by people seeking sanctuary. Most of them was now inside the main palace or their own little camps, but still someone roamed that courtyard, pretending not to be scared.

But they were scared.

Even the bravest elves were unable to bear the burden of such imminent danger. Only Elrond and very few others remembered the fight in the end of the Second Age; it had been a difficult victory and yet the army of the Last Alligeance was ten times larger than the amount of fighters they could gather.

Elladan was shivering, and he didn't want his father to see him in that shape. What he and his brother had just seen was simply too terrible to be real.

But it was real.

Elohir was the bravest of the two, but he wasn't hiding his fear anyway. As Elrond approached, running out in the courtyard followed by Arwen and saw his two sons so frightened, an expression of fear appeared on him for the first time after hundreds of years.

"We have terrible news, father! They are coming, they..." Elladan stopped, choking.

"Dragons, father! From the North and the East!"

Elrond was petrified. In the thousands of years he lived, never he had felt so weak and impotent.

"This cannot be..."

"Believe us, father! There are at least four of them, coming from the mountains."

"Let us return in the house, so we will speak without scaring this people any more."

But may had seen the fear of the Half-Elven, and they all knew that he would have been scared only if the world's end was at hand.

In his room Bilbo was hastily writing pages and pages of his red book. While until then he pondered every word and kept a slow rhythm, he now wrote at his maximum speed, caring little about calligraphy and grammar errors. If he hadn't finished it soon, probably he'd have never finished it. And he felt like if the book continued, life continued. He was quickly growing old, like all the years he had dodged before were falling on him, but this just didn't stop him. That book was his greatest adventure, for it contained all the others. It would have contained his last one too.

The elves were very protective towards him and they tried to appear completely relaxed, but a Hobbit that has spoken with a dragon and known all people of Middle Earth wasn't so easily cheated. He was willing to play his part in such a fight, even if this meant his death.

He wasn't probably going _to live happily ever _after. The ending of his book would have probably been written by someone else, maybe by Frodo...

The elves had not spoken of him much, in the last times. Or at least not when Bilbo was present. He overheard Elrond speaking of the Fellowship returning though, so he was hoping to see his nephew soon.

"How many, elf?"

"This is the twelfth!"

"You've just been lucky!" shouted Gimli, while he took down the tenth orc of that day.

The path of the Fellowship was blocked in a village of Rohan, not far away from the Misty Mountains. They were heading northwards on the quickest way, but parties of warriors from Mordor had already invaded the lands and were scattered everywhere.

"Fourteen!" yelled Aragorn, decapitating a particularly big orc. He had joined Gimli and Legolas in that macabre race because it was the only thing they could have laughed about in those days.

They had marched straight north since the fall of Minas Tirith, gathering the few rangers they met. Until then, thirty rangers had joined them, Dùnadain as well as people from Gondor.

All the villages they had passed through had been raided. Orcs and goblins came to destroy everything, without order and mainly without purpose. Sauron had remained in the south with most of his soldiers. His army had been decimated in the battle with the Men of the West, and he still needed to recover his battalions and reorganize the army. Proud and bloodthirsty as he was, he still hesitated to attack the Elves without his full strength.

Gimli slashed his sixteenth orc, and it was the last. The village had been cleared, and it was almost evening. They decided to camp there for the night, hoping not to be spotted by another party of enemies. Legolas had won the day, with eighteen kills, and he was running around the field looking for his arrows. He carried few with himself and he hated to use orcish ones like the rangers did, so he always tried to retrieve his own.

"We can't get to Rivendell at this rate! Shouted Gimli, while they were sitting around the fire, in the evening. "If every village is as infested as this, we will never breach the enemy's forces around the Last Housing Place!"

"Maybe." Aragorn sat thoughtful, smoking from a pipe. "But the orcs grow lesser in number as we proceed northwards. We met more on the road to this village than in the village itself, and much more we met yesterday than today."

"I agree." Legolas affirmed "They seem to be disbanded and without aim, and the more of them we kill, the more the survivors will be afraid of us. More than once they have tried to escaped us as we approached."

"That's true" admitted the Dwarf "but they surely have surrounded Elrond's house with as many troops as they can assemble. Sauron won't just let his main objective receive reinforcements without trying to stop them."

"This is true, but you must consider in these lands he has in his disposal merely Goblins. Even though they may be numerous, they are no match for us and the rangers."

"There something which worries me more." said Legolas "We haven't received any news from Gandalf since the last two days. He might be in need of help."

"If he has not revealed us his destination," stated Aragorn, "it is precisely so that we wouldn't have been tempted to follow him. I trust Mithrandir, anyway. He has survived many deadly battles, and his wisdom is undoubted. He will know what to do."

Gandalf was sitting between the trees on Fangorn gaining his strength to take a difficult decision. His kindred, Radagast, sat beside him, listening from the mouths of animals the news about the Enemy's advance.

Orcs burnt everything on their path, even when they didn't need to. They lumbered more trees than they could use, simply taking pleasure in ending their centuries-old lives.

"Gandalf... we must act quickly, whatever is the risk. We will stand no chance, if they advance further."

"You know what is the toll of such an attempt. We will send others in a battle with no return."

"I understand, but they are restless. We must act as soon as the war host is sat on march, or the forest will succumb before reacting."

"Sad words, but true. Help me. We will do what we must."  
Screamed by the two Istarii, the Ent call resonated in the valley and expanded beyond the borders of the forest. A slight echo of it reached Sauron's ears. On his throne in the ruined city of the Tower of Guard, he screamed in response, a scream of pure evil, a long lost war cry which froze his foes' blood as well as that of his servants.

**I hope this first chapter can give an impression about what is going to happen. I believe the "what if" is a good chance to create some epic battles. I also wanted to give some space to characters loke Glorfindel of Tom Bombadil who were left out in the movies, so expect them to play a huge part. **

**Next chapter is not going to be out before September 15th.**


	2. Servants of the Ring

The Palantir in the new throne room of Minas Tirith shone with foul magic as the Dark Lord approached it. In the twin stone, deep in the Misty Mountains' caves, the Eye appeared bright.

"I am listening, servant." Sauron said.

"Hail thee, my Master." Xagrael the Dragon answered him "I bear thee news from the beginning of the end."

The immense creature stretched in the stone hall, formerly a dwarven outpost, then the liar of a tribe of goblins. When the great wyrm had chosen it as his residence, they retired in small secondary tunnels, fearing him even though they knew he was their ally. His voice was deep, harsh, old as the world, his gaze bore a knowledge beyond that of any mortal.

"The refugees from Lothlorien are being constantly ambushed by the goblins from the mountains. The Beornians have succumbed to the spider raids. I have personally slain Gwahir, the leader of the eagles. Our road is now clear."

"Excellent, my servant. Now, describe the situation in the western lands."

"I have dispatched my brother to crush any resistance from here to the Grey Havens. No Eldar will escape in the west."

The eye turned towards Dol Guldur. Eight Ring-Wraiths in the fortress bowed in acknowledgement.

"State your condition, my Minions."

"Our war host is complete, o supreme Master. The orcs just await thy order."

"The Elves?"

"Fires are being fuelled to burn their forests and homes, supreme. They are attempting an escape in the west."

"The Dwarves?"

"Forgive our ignorance, Master. Nothing do we know about their situation."

"No matter. This is exactly what i had forseen."

Again, the eye moved, turning to the sea near the Blue Mountains. A corsair captain removed the cloth which covered his Palantir. The sphere was a token of fidelity from his Master.

"Has Cirdan, as i had requested, been annihilated?"

"Not yet. We still need a bit a' time. But they got no hope, they're dead already."

"My trust in thy kin is uncertain. Fulfil thy objectives in time and thou will be allowed to remain on the side of winners."

The eye turned East again, to observe the last, decisive unit.

"Who goes first?" Aragorn asked, standing before the gates of the ancient Dwarf-Dig.

"Let the Elf go, see if he can understand something about the situation." Gimli answered.

"Nonsense, this is a dwarven mine, you should go first." said Legolas.

"Stop it, you two. I will go. If Gandalf's message was right, we'll find the bridge of Khazad-Dum fixed and crossable."

"Are we sure we want to do this?" asked the dwarf.

"Moria is the only way quick enough through the mountains. We would lose too much time trying to cross the Caradhras. Unless any of you is afraid of this, of course."

"Afraid? No dwarf would ever be afraid of reclaim his ancestor's halls! Let us show those goblins what happens to the defilers of our homes! Unless Legolas prefers another way..."

Legolas ran in as an answer, followed by the two and the rangers, forty-three men at all.

The bridge had, indeed, been fixed. Fixed by the Goblins though: the missing part had been replaced with a brittle and irregular wooden structure, hardly resistant enough to last more than a few days, even if left alone. If a whole company of men crossed it, very likely it wouldn't have held more than a few seconds.

"We'll never cross this! This thing will fall as soon as we set foot on it!"

"Legolas will march first. He is light enough to make it. Then we'll go, one at a time, leaving our baggage behind."

The rangers nodded, Gimli looked quite unappreciative, but in the end he agreed.

The elf crossed the bridge without problems. Then the rangers went on, one at a time, as planned. The bridge crumble under their step, but not enough to be worried about it. Aragorn and Gimli were the last two on the farther side.

"You go firs, Gimli, i'll secure this side and follow."

Gimli nodded. Suddenly, they both turned towards the exit. Something had overcame their perception. A sense of danger and discomfort, followed by the vision of an instant.

The Eye.

"What was that?"  
"You saw it too? I sense it's near!"

"Then let us run! Let alone prudence, the farther we are from it, the better!"

The two of them started to run. The dimly lit halls echoed with a demonic litany:

_Ash Nazg Durbatuluk, Ash Nazg Gimbatul, Ash Nazg Tharakatuluk, Agh Burzum Ishi Krimpatul!_

"It's a Nazgul!"

The dwarf and the man crossed together the bridge, which, unexpectedly, held their weight. An unknown entity was approaching from outside the caves. It didn't look like a Nazgul: nor like the dark knights, nor wraith-looking like their true appearance. It seemed made of pure nothingness. An emptier space than the emptiness around it. It spoke like a whisper between their thoughts, at times imploring, at times menacing.

_Come to me._

_Don't you remember?_

_I am here._

_Come to me._

They got to the other edge of the bridge, which was shaking and losing pieces.

The litany of the ring begun again. Actually, it seemed to echo more in their heads than in the room.

"It's crossing the bridge! Let us crush it!"

"Let a dwarf do dwarven jobs!" yelled Gimli. The bridge collapsed after a single blow of axe. Wood pieces fell into the abyss, the entity retreated to the entrance.

"This doesn't happen when the bridges are dwarven quality! Stupid Goblins!" the dwarf screamed.

He was silenced by the creature.

_Once again._

_It fell, it fell. _

_Don't you remember?_

_They fell. _

_He returned. _

_Don't you remember?_

"Aragon... what is this?" asked Legolas.

"I don't know. Let us make haste, he may be delayed, but physical obstacle hardly can stop a creature of Sauron."

They ran in the deserted halls, followed by one, last "_do you remember?"_

Twenty elven ballistas shoot at the same time, breaking the corsair naval blockage. Cirdan, the Craftsman, leader of the elves of Mithlond, observed his generals trying to direct the troops. The fortresses were safe, but the siege seemed unbreakable. For many corsair ships they sunk, many more came. The fleet seemed limitless. The few messengers sent to gather reinforcements did not come back, which meant that either the dwarves in the Blue Mountains were destroyed, or they had sided with the enemy. The road to their mines was clear, elven archers didn't let themselves be ambushed, so the only chance was that they reached their destination and met their end there.

Another salvo rained upon the enemy ships, which avoided quite well. The few elven ships in the harbour were armed and ready, but they stood no chance against an army ten times more numerable.

"My lord, one of our messengers has returned!" Cirdan rose from his seat and greeted him. The elf was wounded, an arm bandaged and a patch on his eye.

"My Lord, i have visited the Dwarves of Blue Mountains. They cannot afford any help for us!"

"What? Do they still hate us because of old rivalries? Or have they sided with our enemy?"

"No, they too have to face a siege. The Goblins of the mountains have united, and they are supported by... You won't believe my words, but... Halflings have descended in battle against us."

"What? The hobbits of the Shire, the quietest folk of Middle Earth?! Did you let the dwarves deceive you with these nonsense?"

"I have seen them. They receive orders from the goblins. And they're not common goblins, they have no fear and feel no pain, they seem unstoppable."

"How could this be... neither of them has ever took up a fight against the dwarves... the goblins were too coward, and the hobbits... they just cannot have done anything like this."

"There is someone driving this all, my lord. The Dark Lord is not only dominating the seas, now. He must have grown muc more powerful from the last time we had news from the outside."

An explosion shook the whole complex. The two elves ran at the window: The corsairs were bombarding the city with fireballs, not the average ignited pitch-balls, but exploding bombs.

"All the ships prepare to battle! We'll try to attack them!!" Elven horns sounded, the Eldar garrisoned the ships and twelve warships left contemporaneously. The yells of the commanders filled the air together with the sound of explosions, smoke obscured sight. The elves in the city heard but confused sounds, then the bombing stopped.

A single, small black boat entered in the harbour, bearing a white flag. The archers aimed, but no one dared to shoot.

A man, or a human-looking creature at least was standing on its deck, wearing a white mantle, its face hooded, its arms risen.

"State your purpose here! Have you come to negotiate?" A sentry yelled. No answer came from the man.

Cirdan ran to the docks, ready both to fight and to talk. The boat hit the dock and the figure remained motionless. A soldier approached it. Still no reaction.

The guard took the hood off its face, and he drew back, in terror.

Under the mantle stood the corpse of an elf, his eyes gouged, his mouth broken, on his forehead the Eye drawn in blood. Only then they noticed the lighted fuse on the ship.

A second too late.

Naurmith, the Dragon of the Misty Mountains, brother to Xagrael, was inspecting the shire, knowing that he'd have found no resistance from the people of that land. He descended into a small village and looked around. No one was there. The place looked abandoned.

Houses were empty, dust all around, no sign of recent activity. It could've been empty for a long time.

"Where are you, cowards? Come out, unless you wan me to get... angry." he breathed a flame in air.

"Hail, dragon. I was expecting one of you kind, here, although... i thought you'd have come sooner."

An old man was looking at the dragon, with no fear at all, instead, with a some way happy expression.

"Oh, finally a mortal who wants to end his life. You're either extremely foolish, or very brave, but in a foolish way nevertheless."

"You words are... incautious. You should know your adversary, before taunting him."

"Adversary? You're hardly even a prey!" the dragon laughed.

"Maybe. But there may be something more than appearance, don't you think?"

"Bah. Enough of this nonsense. I'll rape your soul and devour your body, and we'll see if you're going to be so brave then."  
The eyes of the dragon locked the eyes of the man.

"As i've said, there's more than appearance."

The dragon retreated, in fear. The gaze of the man, who was surely all but a man, held a greater power than he could imagine.

"So, the great monster retreats on fear? Do you still consider me less than a prey?"

"No... You won't have me! Not..."

The man laughed. His appearance had completely changed. He was shining of inner light.

"What are you?"

"There's no sense in answering you. You're not going to live long enough to understand the answer."

The man took a knife from under his cloak and stabbed the paralysed dragon in the throat, his only weak point.

"Now, this seems to be just what i need."

He laughed, as he skinned the dragon and got to his bones.

**Next chapter out around 30th september or the first days of October. **


	3. Lone Mountain

The throne of the lonely mountain was more than the mere residence of the King of Dwarves. It was a relic, a symbol of the fight against Smaug, of the Battle of the Five Armies, and above all, of the allegiance between men and dwarves.

At that time, it also was a training room.

The Dwarven Royal Guards, the most skilled and brave fighters of the clans, were keening their weapons and exercising inside the immense throne room. King Dain Ironfoot himself was duelling with his councillor, weilding his ancestral weapon, while they discussed the sitation.

"They have already breached twice in the outer corridors, but we pulled them back."  
"How? Did you have any casualty?"

"No, majesty. But we had to collapse most of the area to block their passage."

Dain parried a blow and sighed. "I'd never have thought of destroying the glorious halls of my ancestors."  
"There was no choice."

"I know, i know. But now, we will have to rebuild them ,and they will anyway never be the same."

"With all respect, i'd focus on more pressing matters."

"Like the orcs out here? They're no match for us."

"I am sure, but... they are too many. How cam we protect our people with the forces we have?"

"The same way we did during the time of the last allegiance. Men have sought refuge in our halls, as Dale was invaded, and we now must protect them. Remember these halls were created to be undefeatable."

Like a sudden thunder, the halls of the Lonely Mountain resonated for the falling gates. Five thousands goblins swarmed inside, guided by one of the Ringwraiths. Their screams froze the blood in the stubborn dwarven hearts, not yet strongly enough to bend their pride.

At the sound of the horn, the people of Dain ran in the hallways and the corridors, drawing axes, swords and hammers. From the throne hall and the houses, from the mines, from the underground streets and wells and pits, all the Dwarves who were capable of holding a weapon, males and females, young and old, ran tho the gates.

For a few seconds, the two legions faced each other on the befallen doors. Inside, the dwarves, a scarce thousand, and the multitude of the orcs outside. The orcish ranks opened, and a single knight walked out of them. A Nazgǔl.

King Dain, who was standing before his army, walked to his foe, axe risen. The wraith leaned lo look the dwarf's face.

"I greet thee, majesty under the mountain. My Master is eager to welcome thy people within his blessed domains."  
"Never will my people surrender to He who calls the world his slave, yet pretends his domains to be blessed. Why would i accept his conditions?"

"Because no other choice is given, and because He has a way of rewarding who helps him."

The wraith put and hand under his robe, drawing three jewelled rings.

"These are tokens from my Master. They were long ago stolen from your people, and now they are returned to you."  
"Already once you offered me these, and already once i have refused. Why should your coward Master think i will accept now, and why hasn't he come himself?"

"Your blasphemy will not go unpunished! Surrender your domain now and i will be merciful."

"You are nothing but a lackey of someone, or some_thing _that is too vile and fearful to come here. Nothing you will do will give you any advantage, nor will you receive compliments from your master. Everything you do is pointless."

"This is enough! If your people was skilled half as it's now impudent, your end will be a too pathetic one to even remember."

The wraith jumped down his steed, casting away his mantle. He was wearing a black armour covering all of his body, except the head. His face was diaphanous and pale, but definitely material. His eyes were red and burning imitations of Sauron's one, long white hair descended on them.

He slipped on his right index the three dwarven rings of power, which sparkled of energy as they touched the human one.

The two adversaries walked in circle for a few, endless, instants. Two champions fighting while they were observed by their armies, a relic from long since gone ages. In those split seconds, Dain considered after all, his adversary was still a king and a knight. He still had a sense of honour.

The Nazgǔl thought nothing. He couldn't think anything any more.

The dwarf attacked first. His blow was low and imprecise, the wraith dodged it with ease. He rose his sword and tried to stab Dain's head from above, but he parried and blown the undead off balance. The axe reached the armoured arm, clinking on the dark metal.

All that was outside the battle lost importance. The dwarf king focused on his adversary, pervaded by blinding detremination.

They kept fighting for long, long time. Dain's strikes were strong, but slow, while his enemy seemed to prefer defending and avoid being hit, renouncing to attempt great attacks. He jumped around Dain, puzzling him and avoinding every slash. Minutes followed minutes, as the yet strong dwarven endurance bent while the demonic resistance held.

Dain realized his adversary would've kept him fighting until he was too tired to react. But as long as this could've been a chance for his people...

He suddenly realized there was no people. There were no orcs. There was nothing at all, execept for he and his enemy.

"What sorcery is this? What have you done to me?"

The wraith let out a laughter coming from hell itself, while he jumped on his opponent, finally attacking.

Dain dodged, while he slashed on the sword with all the strength he had left. The Nazgǔl rolled on the ground and rose up, with unnatural and disarticulated moves.

He laughed, again.

With no forces left, Dain hit again his invincible adversary.

A shadow of fear seemed to cover the Nazgǔl's eyes, as his right hand rolled on the ground, still with the sword in the grip and the rings on the fingers.

The world blurred. Dain felt the cloak of nothingness which enshrouded his sight loosening and fading away.

And what he saw was worse that he had expected. His people lied, not killed, slaughtered, inside the mines. Orcs were running to and fro on the blood-flooded battlefield. All of this had happened while he fought.

"This was all a trick! A sorcery to keep me busy!"

"Yes, dwarven king. The power of the rings os much greater than you could imagine. Think: it was the magic of your people who led it to their destruction."

"This cannot be! This is an illusion!

"Yes it is, king with no people. You all were tricked. You all were deceived. None of you could see the others. And this is because..."

"Shut your vile mouth! I shall listen no more!"

"...because you are selfish. Selfish and fool. Twice you're refused the Master's power, now you've faced it."

The ringwraith crouched and collected his hand. It was still moving, convulsing under the power of the ring. As he put it again on his arm, a red light shone on the cut, as it healed and regenerated.

"Now you're free, dwarf. Go away from your former reign. See what will become of this earth. None of the Master's creature will harm you any longer. This is the best punishment for you."

"No... this cannot..."  
"Cannot be? You will soon learn there's nothing impossible for the Master."

Dain took the axe, rose it, stared at his adversary's demonic eyes.

"I won't accept your conditions."

The axe flew, cast with strength, on the ground.

"I will go, and i won't fight you any longer. But this is nor cowardice nor weakness. Fighting, i let myself deceived and led my people to destruction. No more shall i wield a weapon, no more shall i hurt any creature, not even a beast like you."

"So this is your decision. Well, wander as a beggar, live as a slave, your fate won't be any better. The Master will be pleased."

"You disgust me. Remember that you might have used the power of the three surviving dwarven rings, but you haven't used it as you should. What is meant to create cannot be used to destroy without dooming itself."

"You can be a prophet of disgrace and doom, but you will realize i's your destiny you're forseeing."

Dain walked away. The Nazgǔl laughed one last time and returned in the deserted throne room. As he had ordered, the Palantir rested on the throne, the Eye already lit inside it.

As he touched it, a small tremor run through the earth.

"Hail thee, my Master." he said.

"Report, servant. What is left of the dwarves?"

"All was as thou had planned."

Another tremor, this time more intense.

"And the king? Has he met his proper end ?"

"He..."

The sound of a collapse echoed. The Nazgǔl saw with growing fear the pillars which held the ceiling crushing. They didn't seem to fall, they exploded, like some immense strength was bursting out.

Reacquiring flesh had made the ringwraiths stronger and more resilient, but it also returned them something they had abandoned long ago.

Fear.

"Answer me, servant! What is happening?!"

An enormous block of stone detached from the ceiling and collapsed, like in slow motion, on the throne. At the last second the undead rolled over and avoided the rock, abandoning the palantir.

He heard the crystal shattering and falling into pieces.

Pieces of stone kept falling around him. He leapt to avoid them ,reaching for the exit. Orcs barred his way.

"My lord, the halls are falling part! What do we do?!"

"Don't stand on my way! Run!"

More and more orcs blocked hid path. The Nazgǔl drew his sword and slashed the clser ones, hoping to create a passage. As the first goblins fell, the others decided to avenge them. Never caring the falling ceiling, thy leapt on their former leader and fought with bites, claws and clubs. When the rocks started falling all around them, they fled, leaving a battered carcass of the Nazgǔl.

He rose, even though his flesh was thorn apart and his body, for strong that it was, couldn't regenerate it.

"No one... no one can kill me." he said, as he felt his feet separating from each other. Below him, an abyss opened, crushing the millennia-old dwarven city.

He tried to jump over it, but he only managed to grab it's edge, while his body leant in the fissure.

He slowly felt his demonic body crushing. His right hand, already cut and reattached, started to shake and the regenerated bone was made brittle.

The left hand left its grip.

For a second, the Nazgǔl thought he could lift up again.

Then the bone crushed.

The body of the undead fell into the endless pit, while the hand still held the edge.

And now still it remains there, with the rings on, as a macabre memento of Dain's words.


	4. The trees have gone to war

_Dambedir enyd i ganed_

The Ents have answered the call  
_Si linna i waew trin ylf_

Through branches now the wind sings  
_Isto i dur i chuiyl_

Feel the power of living things  
_i ngelaidh dagrar _

The trees have gone to war

Entish echoed through Gondor. From all the forests, all the plains and swamps, from the mountains and the shores, the tree-shepherds left their rest and marched.

From Fangorn Treebeard led his brothers south. Even the eldest and sleepiest woke up and gathered, earth trebled under their steps. All the orcs which found themselves near the trees were stoped and crushed before beig able to alert their superiors. But there was no need to alert them. Even from the distant Minas Tirith, the Dark Lord heard the trees' screams. Inside his throne room, hidden from the rising dawn, he could hear even the most distant voices, beckoning to battle.

When his lieutenant came asking for directions, Sauron didn't show any emotion towards his enemies. No hatred and no rage.

He said only three words.

"Fuel the fires."

ooOOoo

"I am telling you this, I don't like this silence." Gimli's words broke the complete quiet inside the halls of Moria. No other sound could be heard, nor close nor in the distance.

The goblins had deserted Dwarf-dig, or so it seemed. Aragorn, Gimli and Legolas, followed by the few surviving rangers, had almost crossed the mines and were almost in sight of the exit.

"The silence is not the problem" replied Aragorn "What we should be concerned about is how to go outside without alerting the guardian, assuming he's not awake already."

"We can fight back this time." said Legolas "We are many and skilled enough to force it back into the earth."

"I wouldn't underestimate him, dear elf" siad Gimli "Even your bow can do little against such a creature."

"We'll see it soon enough. There are the gates."

For a few seconds they hesitated before the arched doors of Moria. For impossible as I was to determine surely the time of the day while inside, they all agreed it had to be dawn or early morning. Either way, the guardian would've probably been asleep or too afraid to show in the light.

"Gandalf said from this side they can be just pushed open, so let's do it." Said Gimli, even though he kept away from them.

"Well, let the dwarf do it."

Legolas and Gimli scowled at each other for a while, then rushed to the doors and opened them together.

It was dawn. The light of the rising sun hurt their eyes and forced them to look away. The feeling was wonderful, after all the darkness. It lifted the grief in their hearts and cleaned tha dark shadow bestowed by the creature on the bridge.

The lake was still. In full sunlight, even it's dark and murky waters didn't seem any harmful. The only thing left now was heading north.

ooOOoo

"This is unacceptable! I am a mature hobbit and I demand to know what's going on!"

In the last few days, Bilbo had become much more determined and there was no time of the day he wasn't asking Elrond or some elf for informations. They all avoided his questions and pretended to be too busy, and very often they actually are, but this didn't prevent the hobbit from gathering, here and there, a lot of insight about what was going on. Between Elrond's excuses, he heard about dragons; he eavesdropped Glorfindel talking about the fall of Minas Tirith, and various other conversations permitted him to track a quite complete picture of the happenings. There was only one thing he couldn't find out: what had happened of Frodo and the Company of the Ring?

He was wondering about it when he overheard Arwen singing softly in one of the south halls. She was looking out of the window, leaning out in the fresh morning air. She was one of the few Bilbo hadn't yet questioned. He didn't want to interrupt her though, so he just walked next to her, waiting for her to finish.

The elven princess suffocated the last note and looked Bilbo: she knew what did he want.

"You are going to ask me about your nephew, aren't you?"  
"In fact, my lady that's exactly what I wanted to know."

"I know little, and i'm not allowed to tell you. I'm sorry, but..."

"At least you can tell me what happened to the company! Will they ever return?"  
"Yes." Arwn smiled, happy to give some good news to the troubled hobbit "Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli are already on their way and will soon be here."  
"And what about Meraidoc... what about Pippin, and Sam? Where are they? And where is Gandalf?!"

"Gandalf is in ten south, and he said Merry and Pippin are with him. You mustn't worry for them. As for master Gamgee.... he was with Frodo, when..."

"When what? What happened? What has become of them?"

"I can tell you nothing more. Not even the elves can fully understand."

"But you have to tell me what you know! I MUST KNOW!"

The hobbit grabbed her arms, holding her tightly. The usual kind appearance was gone, his face was become monstrous and deformed for a few seconds.

Then he backed off, barely standing. He didn't say a word. He went away and locked himself in his room. Short after, he was leaning on his red book, adding lines and lines of new events.

ooOOoo

Before noon, all of Rohan was a battlefield. The Eorlingas, led by Faramir and Eowyn, were sweeping the land in large battalions, ambushing the enemies at every corner. Meanwhile, the forests fought the orcs attempting to burn them. They had reduced Sauron's once great northern garrison to his weak spot.

Merry and Pippin had discovered how fun was the usual Gimli and Legolas' race, and from between the ranks of the Ents they contested on every enemy.

Merry stroke down a particular burly orc with his sling, and even though he was two points behind, he took a moment of pause retreating between Treebeard's legs. He saw Pippin rushing mindlessly in the enemy ranks, and knew he had to help him.

"Must you always put yourself in trouble?"

"Of course I do!" they found themselves surrounded by orcs.

"What do you suggest now, my good friend?" asked Pippin, jesting.

"I'd suggest to take the most logic course of action and run for our lives."

The orcs sared at them, growling. One second before they attacked, the two hobbits rolled aside and ran in opposite directions. A ent caught the good opportunity and threw a rock on the enemies before they could start chasing.

"These ents have some timing skills after all!"

"They surely do! What next?"

"Well, I saw a catapult down the hill."  
"Forget it. They have a battalion of orcs defending each, we can't go on our own."  
"Well, if you don't want, you can forfeit and let me win..."

"Never! Where are they?"

Pippin guided his friend to a cliff right above the war machine.

"Do you think we should go for it?"  
"No... let's make them run instead..."

"Agreed! Get ready!"  
"Hey down there" Yelled Merry "The view is much better from here, why don't you come?"

He hid behind a large rock before a barrage of arrows hit the spot where he was. The orcs ran up as fast as they could, drawing swords and axes... but all they could see from the high ground was Merry and Pippin sliding down the cliff and attacking the catapult. Before the orcs could react, the hobbits had cut all the ropes of the war machine and were already running away. The could hear, in the distance, one of them screaming "This makes 21, i've passed you!"


	5. The triumphs of Sauron

Screams. Screams all around. Screams filled the air, covering the noise of the battle around, covering the clash of steel against steel, the horns and the arrows flying around.

Yes, screams were what Aragorn remembered better of the battle at the Black Gate. While he sat by the camp-fire, half asleep, he relived those tragic moments.

He recalled a feeling of expectation when the Nazgul abandoned the battle and rushed to Mount Doom. Not a simple hope of winning, not the sensation that they were actually fleeing. No, it was something deeper, a somehow supernatural feeling of something reaching its apex. Was Frodo really about to destroy the ring? Were their hopes about to be fulfilled?

When _it_ happened they weren't ready. Nobody was ready. Neither the orcs, who couldn't understand the complexity of the situation, nor men, whose hopeful heart didn't allow them to believe it.

It took a few seconds, maybe minutes, to realize the Ring had been taken. The first ones to awake from the awe were the eagles. Their screams woke all the others.

The army of men lost control. Supernatural fear filled the air like a foul stench. The Rohirrim, fastest on their horses, fled first, dispersing into the Marshes, shortly followed by the soldiers of Gondor. The orcs were slow to take advantage of the situation: their charge begun when most of the men were already out of their reach.

The battle of the Black Gate... they called it a battle, but all it had been was an inglorious retreat.

The luckiest were saved by the giant eagles and brought back to Minas Tirith. Among them were the remaining members of the Company of the ring. Aragor, Merry, Pippin, Gimli, Legolas and Gandalf regrouped in the white city- and were forced to become heralds of its doom. After that, the two hobbits followed the wizard and for Aragorn and the others it had been a restless march northwards.

The numenorean stood up and walked around the camp, where the thirty rangers and the dwarf were sleeping and Legolas rested in the elvish fashion. They were more or less a day away from Rivendell, and there was no sign of the enemy whom they had met in Moria, nor of any orcs or goblins on the roads. The forests of Arnor were as calm that night as they had ever been, unaware of the war which was likely about to devastate them.

In the day, the scattered forces of the orcs had mostly been chased from Fangorn and Rohan. While the Rohirrim were content with this success and retreated to protect their houses and the surviving villages, the Ents marched on to Gondor. Their march seemed unstoppable. But the Dark Lord had other plans.

In the plains of Anòrien, north of the White mountains, Sauron's war host met the tree-shepherds.

There were to negotiations. As soon as the tall figures of the Ents appeared in the horizon, the dark army barraged the land with flaming arrows. The One ring's power fuelled the fires until the whole plain was nothing but a charred and barren heath.

They shed no tear, spared no though for the lives they had ended. Centuries did it take for those trees to grow, to learn, to live- moments it took for the fire to burn their bark and reduce them to ashes.

None of Sauron's soldiers even saw the charred corpses of two halflings who chose to give their lives to fight beside an old friend. No funeral did they receive, no burial nor honours. The only reward for their soul was that their ashes would merge with the earth, and from this earth new trees would grow, and in these trees they would live forever.


End file.
